


Taken for Granted

by black_moral



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst, M/M, Slice of Life, Tumblr: bbcmerlinfest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-29
Updated: 2014-04-29
Packaged: 2018-01-21 05:26:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1539323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/black_moral/pseuds/black_moral
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Post 5x03 - The Death Song of Uther Pendragon; Canon AU) Arthur thinks back to that night when he forced his father's ghost back into the spirit world, and is haunted by how close he was to losing the most important thing in his life, only realizing it when he was nearly too late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taken for Granted

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the Day 4 prompt for [**BBC Merlin Fest**](http://bbcmerlinfest.tumblr.com), which is the Favorite Pairing prompt. Please take a look there and see all the magnificent work done by everyone participating! There's a myriad of graphics, arts, fics, etc. that are all wonderful. It's just begun, so I encourage keeping an eye on it! :)
> 
> I'd like to thank my team (Go Team Arthur!) because everyone there is an awesome bunch of people who are incredibly sweet and talented and have had to deal with my insecurities and endless rambles and other tomfoolery. I also need to thank my darling [Gavin](http://hoontastic.tumblr.com) for constantly cheering me on and reading over my work and slapping sense into me when I was flailing about during this. You all are the greatest and I love you.
> 
> I hope all of you who read this enjoy it! This is me taking an idea after watching 5x03 and going wild with it, changing the canon a bit. I can't really explain too much beyond that. So, yeah! Happy readings!
> 
> * * *

Sometimes you don’t realize what you’ve got until it’s nearly ripped away from you.

 

Arthur sat at his desk with his hands intertwined before him, eyebrows furrowed in deep thought. He’s managed to think past the constant noise of Merlin fumbling about as he cleaned the king’s bedroom chambers—little more than background noise after several years of having a bumbling idiot for a manservant. In fact, Arthur found he can only think best when he had Merlin around; his thoughts tended to scatter like papers in the wind when it’s too quiet. One wouldn’t think that the crash of dishes and Merlin tripping over his own wash bucket would be calming, but for Arthur, it was. Sometimes, it even brought a hint of a smile to his lips when he heard that muttered curse beneath Merlin’s breath. It reminded him of how it felt when that hot breath grazed against his skin, hearing that same sound when he touched his manservant in a certain way—laying on top of the velvet sheets upon his bed. Or when they found a place within the corridors of the castle that casted a shadow far enough to conceal them, they stifled nervous laughs and pleasured moans with a bite of their lips or a hand covering their mouths because they couldn't afford to be caught.

 

Arthur thought of how the weight of being a king could have aged him exponentially. He saw how old his father became, and not because he was far into his years either. He aged because of fear, hatred, guilt, loneliness; he tried his best to bury it all into the furthest recesses of his mind. When that didn’t work, he made up excuses to justify everything he did and said—tried to mold Arthur into becoming the same type of man as he. Somewhere inside, Uther had a good heart, and was a good man; he wanted the best for his son and for Camelot. Good intentions rarely became good ideas or even good actions for him, however. Arthur saw his father waste away to nothing, took away the determination he had since childhood to make him proud when the last breath left Uther’s body. This alone had aged Arthur, hardened him in a way that he could not prevent. It was easy to withdraw, to feel that he was to follow those exact footsteps. The man everyone knew was fading into the background in necessity of taking up and continuing what his father began. Thank God for those in his circle though, especially one such person who was now staring at him so closely that Arthur could see every detail in those blue eyes—

 

And Arthur jumped back a good few feet, nearly knocking his chair over in the process.

 

“ _Merlin!_ ”

 

“Sorry!” Merlin apologized with a raise of his hands and a couple of steps taken backwards. Arthur scowled and checked to make sure his heart hasn’t literally leaped out of his throat. It’s not often that he’s startled nearly out of his skin, but it seemed he was so engrossed within his mind that he even worried Merlin—who was picking up some of the papers and the quill from where it spilled onto the floor. The bottle of ink had also tipped over and shattered, to the manservant’s dismay; he had _just_ scrubbed this floor and ink was a pain to clean! Arthur wasn’t sympathetic.

 

“The hell were you trying to do, anyway?” He asked, irritated, trying to put his papers back into order while Merlin scooped up the broken ink bottle and got the wash bucket to clean the mess before the ink settled onto the floor.

 

“Just…” Merlin began, a little distractedly so he didn’t cut himself from the broken glass, “…trying to get your attention, I suppose. I was talking to you about the council meeting regarding this week’s patrols around Camelot and you didn’t say anything.” He looked up with a bit of a frown. “You hardly even blinked.”

 

Arthur’s hard look softened a bit at Merlin’s explanation, settling his papers down on the table once organized. “Oh,” he replied after a moment. “Well…” There was an apology dancing at the tip of his tongue. He wanted to just _say_ it; it would have been so simple. “…just don’t try to grab my attention like that again, alright?” He exhaled a sigh, knowing full well Merlin wasn’t going to leave it at that. Merlin worried, excessively so. If he didn’t ask now, he’d ask later. And if Arthur shut him down now and later on, he’d bring it up until Arthur finally gave in.

 

He’d yet to be victorious against a persistent Merlin.

 

This was why he remained young in a way. Merlin never left him alone. He was by his side at every turn, from their perilous journeys that risked their necks every time, to when their fingers intertwined together and Arthur bit down on that delicate flesh and Merlin writhed beneath him as his name left his mouth in myriad of gasps, moans and cries. Even now as Merlin puffed out his cheeks and delivered his master a stubborn look, Arthur found his eyes peering down to an exposed part of Merlin’s neck that his neckerchief didn’t quite cover. There was a splotch of purple there, and it made the king grin. Merlin caught the stare, flushed a little, and tugged his neckerchief up while turning away. He knew he was going to get nowhere now, and left Arthur to his smugness and internal chuckles. For the moment, Arthur had the advantage, and was relieved of his more tumultuous contemplations. An incredulous laugh and a twinkle in his eyes replaced all of that, hands taking up his papers for that council he was reminded of. The king exited his chambers, not aware of Merlin’s stare at his back as he disappeared down the hall.

 

Merlin would get those thoughts out of him yet.

 

* * *

 

Arthur had listened to—at best—half of the talks throughout the council meeting at the round table. These meetings were never entertaining, but it wasn’t that the king was bored. He kept his eyes peeled between the closed doors and the recently repaired chandelier, wondering if his father had really been vanquished from this world. There was doubt that lingered since that night when he faced Uther’s spirit. He had seen—watched once he blew the torn—as his father disappeared into nothingness. When all that remained was himself, and Merlin—the spears that trapped his manservant in place against the wall, and the sword that had Arthur been a moment later, would have probably been found embedded in Merlin’s chest.

 

Arthur had never moved past the words that cut so deeply into him by his father. His disapproval of every single thing he did echoed within his mind without any mercy. He had truly thought he was doing everything right, and was making Uther proud of him. Camelot was strong, stable; the people were happy and taken care of. His knights were the strongest men he had ever encountered, regardless of their origins. He ruled with not just his mind, but with his heart, keeping the laws strict from their origins but not giving anyone a reason to fear—but to respect and feel inspired by.

 

It wasn’t perfect, but it had kept Camelot in peace for many years.

 

It wasn’t enough for Uther, who had criticized every single one of his actions, including the secret affections that he had for Merlin. In fact, it seemed that it was Merlin that his father felt the most contempt in. His mind kept rewinding back to that moment, where he ran into the armory room and watched Merlin’s wide blue eyes flick from Uther’s ghost right to him. _Whatever I have done, I’ve done for Camelot…_ Arthur recalled those words, spoken just before he blew the horn. They were what pushed away any hesitation that remained, because he saw no sense in what good it would do Camelot to harm one of his knights; he saw no sense in what good it would do Camelot to kill her king.

 

He saw no sense in what good it would do Camelot to kill Merlin.

 

Arthur had pulled his manservant free from those spears that trapped him against the wall that day, and openly wept against him. He grieved once more, but also cried in relief, as well as fear. Merlin had succumbed to his own tears as well, spurred by his own fears and the overwhelming sadness that he saw in Arthur’s eyes. It was never spoken of since then, even when in the nights that followed Arthur had woken up in a start from nightmares that animated his worst possible fears. Merlin had witnessed as Arthur left Gaius’ chambers after the physician had prescribed him with sleeping draughts—the king looking distressed and casting a constant glance over to the door of Merlin’s room and asking if he was asleep. Gaius never pried, nor assumed anything; he simply answered that yes, Merlin was asleep, and Merlin could have sworn he saw his king’s shoulders sag in what could only be best explained as relief.

 

Merlin found himself remembering that when he caught Arthur glancing up at the ceiling towards that chandelier. Not that he could explain why this brought those memories flooding back, but it did bring back the fact that it hadn’t been that long since Uther’s spirit invaded the castle and wreaked havoc to everyone and everything that represented the great changes following his death. He had nearly killed Percival, Guinevere—had intent on taking his own son’s life as well. Merlin also recalled how close he was to dying as well, but never put any real emphasis on himself. He had done it to himself, after all; he had stepped forward in Arthur’s defense, revealed his magic to Uther, and enraged the ghost to that point. Arthur would never know the circumstances that brought him up against that wall with death staring him right in the face.

 

“Sire?”

 

As if both had been regarded, Arthur and Merlin snapped their attention back to a Leon with risen eyebrows. Arthur blinked and shook his head, muttering a quiet apology. “I think that will be enough for now, Leon,” he continued afterwards, regarding the rest of his round table with a weary gaze that left no room for protest. “We will pick this up at a later time. As long as there are no imminent and pressing matters…”

 

There was no one who spoke up, and Arthur was grateful for the silence. “Then you are all dismissed until tomorrow unless something of grave matter happens to show up between now and then.” Everyone stood, bowed to their king then, and exited in two lines out of the court chambers. Well, almost everyone…

 

Arthur peered over at Merlin.

 

“Have you water in your ears?”

 

Merlin did a fantastic display of tilting his head and tapping at it, lifting it once more and giving a shrug of his shoulders. “Mm… don’t think I do, Sire.”

 

“Then why aren’t you—”

 

“Why aren’t _you_ leaving the chambers?” Merlin asked with his eyebrows raised. Arthur stared at him for a long moment, unable to produce words at being so suddenly cut off. After so many years of such insolent behavior from his manservant, it still surprised him into a temporary silence when he did that. And before he could come up with some sort of lame reply (likely along the lines of ‘ _Well I asked you first…_ ’), Merlin continued. “You’re thinking of that night again, aren’t you?”

 

Arthur played dumb. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

 

Merlin didn’t fall for it. He sighed instead, taking a seat beside Arthur. “It’s been well over a month, Arthur. When are you going to stop looking behind your back thinking he’s hovering over you at every move you make? You’ve vanished him back into the spirit world; he’s not here anymore.”

 

“How can you be so sure, Merlin?” Arthur asked, one of his hands curling into a fist as he hit the surface of the round table with some exasperation. “We were only able to see him because of that disgusting potion Gaius made.” Before Merlin could insert a comment to that, Arthur quickly continued, “There may not have been more incidents since then, but I _feel_ it. I feel _him_ , sometimes. I swear I sometimes think I can hear him calling me a failure, a disappointment, not the son he had wanted me to be—”

 

“Arthur!” Merlin spoke suddenly in urgency, reaching forth and covering that fist with both of his hands, curling his fingers into them as his eyes sought his king’s—his…lover’s… “Do you really believe that? Believe you are these things that he’s told you? He ruled with an entire different belief than you believe in. Do you not listen to your people, your knights, your friends? There is no room for any folly to be spoken of—even if in attempt to gain your favor. The peace we have grown into for all these years is not some stroke of luck; it is because of your ruling, your trust in your people…”

 

“For how long though, Merlin?” Arthur protested, unable to look Merlin in the eye, instead staring at the hands that rested over that tightly clenched fist. “I’ve made so many mistakes since becoming king. Every single one of those mistakes could have resulted in war, in the destruction of Camelot. When my father ruled, he held this kingdom together without showing any signs of weakness. Only when he fell ill, only when it became clear that he could no longer rule did Camelot’s stability falter. Then it was passed on to me.”

 

“And you’ve ruled it to the best of your abilities ever since,” Merlin pressed. “Your father didn’t rule without mistakes. He ruled with fear, with threats, with unnecessary sacrifices. Sure, Camelot remained steady, but at what cost? He trusted no one, and regarded everyone as his enemy, and isolated himself.”

 

“It’s not like I’m any better,” Arthur said miserably.

 

Merlin frowned deeply. “I don’t understand—”

 

Arthur stood up suddenly, pulling his fist free from Merlin’s hands. “I don’t trust anyone when it comes to you. For all the trust I have in my people, in my council, my friends and fellow knights, I haven’t the least confidence in speaking to them openly about you. About _us._ Day in and day out, we put on this pretense of being nothing but a king and a manservant. We hide how we feel before everyone, lock the doors and duck within shadows just for the opportunity to simply _be._ What kind of person am I—what kind of _king_ am I, to be so afraid of expressing that?”

 

Merlin found himself at a loss for words. He began to stand, began to open his mouth…

 

“He knew, you know,” Arthur whispered quietly, as he turned away from the table and stared at the throne across the way. He felt his eyes beginning to sting. Even though he wasn’t in the armory room, he was seeing it right before him. He was seeing his father with the sword in hand. He was seeing Merlin trapped by the spears, wide eyed. He was hearing his father expressing his happiness to kill Merlin. He was watching as he thrust that sword into Merlin and those blue eyes full of life fade away right before him, just because he was afraid.

 

He wasn’t fast enough, wasn’t brave enough, wasn’t strong enough.

 

“He—he knew…” Merlin began with feeling a slight constriction in his throat.

 

“About us,” Arthur finished, and went on with a trembling voice. “He…he expressed his displeasure over the disgusting, wretched things I was so focused on. That to keep it a secret I must have been disgusted as well. That I should have put more focus in allying kingdoms to strengthen Camelot through marriage, having children. Instead I was knowingly shaming myself sleeping with a serving boy and keeping it to myself.” He laughed in that moment, shaking his head, covering his face with a hand while the other twitched fingers when Merlin grasped them with a grip that screamed desperation.

 

“You don’t believe that, Arthur!” Merlin said in a near shout. “You’ve never been disgusted, never been ashamed…!”

 

“I know that!” Arthur churned out emotionally, his voice cracking slightly. He turned to look at Merlin, his eyes red, watery, and before the servant could speak or make any sort of move, his face was taken between his king’s two hands. “But my father thought it that way. And he was willing to do anything for what he believed was for Camelot’s well-being. That included cleansing me of my apparent shame and disgust. Of my secret.”

 

Merlin closed his eyes in that moment. “Of…of us…”

 

“Had I been just a second later…” Arthur choked out, and lowered his head, resting his forehead against Merlin’s. “No one would have understood…”

 

“Arthur, I’m here though,” Merlin said in an attempt to reassure him. “You weren’t too late. You saved my life. You made your father know full well that his turn was done, that this was now your time. You still have every chance in the world to bring reality to our relationship. You can let the world know; it doesn’t have to be a secret if you don’t want it to be.” He could feel the tremble run through his king, the tears that quietly moved down his face, and Merlin tilted his head up just enough to brush his lips against Arthur’s own. “No one is going to take me away from you.” He murmured, and he could have sworn he felt Arthur smile against their lips.

 

It didn’t have to be now. It didn’t have to be tomorrow or the day after or even the day after that. Arthur had Merlin now, he realized amidst all those haunting what-if’s that riddled him with guilt. The king had come to admit that he didn’t realize what he had in Merlin until that very moment. He had an incredibly brave manservant, a loyal friend, and a dedicated lover—a person he had taken for granted even after he had come so close to losing him. Arthur had demanded that sword be melted down after that night with no explanation, had shut everyone—even Merlin away to drown in his own grievances. He never explained himself, his fears, even as he continued to cloak his relationship with Merlin mostly as a means to forget his own guilt and to reassure himself that his manservant was still real and alive and warm beneath the palms of his hands.

 

Up until this moment, he had buried himself beneath layer after layer until he could do so no longer. His father haunted him in his waking days, his sleeping nights, and everywhere in between. He even haunted him when he thought he had finally found a place to hide. It was a slow spiral into insanity that, had Merlin not dug his way through to him, might have resulted in Arthur no longer being Arthur—but merely a reflection of the man his father had distorted himself into.

 

Arthur would always love his father; that was something that would never wane no matter what was said and done. He respected him, missed him, and would never forget the man who raised him to be as strong a man as he could be.

 

But it was now Arthur’s turn.

 

And when he was ready, Arthur would make it not just his time, but his _and_ Merlin’s time. He would let everyone know, and share in the strength and happiness that Merlin had brought and continued to bring into his life.

 

Until then, Arthur knew what he had—who he had. And he had no intention of losing him any time soon.


End file.
